


They’re Working At Me

by Webtrinsic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Body Horror, Body Modification, Broken Bones, Dehumanization, Droids as Human Beings (Star Wars), Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Men Crying, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pain, Quote: The Force works in mysterious ways, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sith Ahsoka Tano, Torture, reverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27989784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: When Ahsoka is kidnapped by General Grievous, she too is forced to suffer the same fate as he.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 21
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VanillaChip101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaChip101/gifts).



> This is based off that poem reading by The actor that plays Merlin, really just look up multi fandom “my hands are not my own” to find the link
> 
> BUT ALSO THIS IS SUCH A COOL IDEA WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN IN BEFORE. I need more of this AU

They manage to take her right from her master’s side. The droids, newly manufactured, are stronger than ever. There is something different about them, and she is sure, even if Anakin and Obi-Wan seemed quizzical, or were simply in denial. She was sure there was a hint of the force residing within their circuitry. 

It’s only then when general Grievous, who had been awaiting her arrival, coughed that she understood. Breeching his presence she looks within the general and he notices, he _shows_ her what he used to be.

He shows her what he’ll do to her. There is fear and sympathy building in her gut. She’d only thought he was a droid. His actions read as such, and she did not want to fall victim to the same fate. She’d been wrong and it’d cost her everything.

* * *

They want her to feel it. Meaning they do what they can while she is awake; only doing the bare minimum of keeping her alive.

A blade travels down the length of her shin and the skin parts with a rush of blood before the droid brackets the injury with forceps to keep it apart. 

Her leg is on fire.

Two smaller attachments protrude from the main droid at work, the dremel feelers butting into exposed muscle, rooting out her veins from their cavities so they can be replaced with wires. 

The restraints fall and more droid’s approach either to move her or keep her from fleeing, but Ahsoka is in too much of pain and shock to even lift a finger. 

The larger droids grip her upper half while a more nimble yet reinforced droid shimmies between the chaos to grab her hips.

The manacled grip bores into the curves of her contours before pushing a bit towards her pelvis. With a sharp and quick ounce of pressure, her legs are forced from their sockets, and her screams leave the droids shivering. 

With her legs detached the main droid switches sides and begin’s again on parting her shin and sending the dremels to free up her veins.

She calls upon the force for comfort except it offers nothing.

The roots dig through her flesh, biting and taking the place of the tubing that shifted her blood until every vein in them was artificial. 

Her being is being chipped away and tears leak down her face endlessly. Dully, disoriented, she wonders what real pieces would be left.

The larger droids step away, one reaching for the side table and procuring reinforced steel that although thick seemed almost weightless.

The other of the larger droids slips it’s claws into her flesh, wrapping firmly around both shins, it’s grip so tight the bones nearly crack. But before they can, and before the fifteen year old can even think or try to prepare herself for the agony that is to come. The droid tears the bones straight up and out of the flesh, her ankles disconnecting and left in her feet.

Ahsoka loses consciousness for nowhere near long enough. All that has changed by the time her eyes even dare to open again is that there is now metal in place of the bones in her feet, and hundreds of needles injecting into her tangerine skin. 

It makes her pores close, the skin shrivel before it wears, becoming hide and a protective leather to the circuitry and steel within.

Where the light didn’t hear her pleas the dark side places a comforting hand on her head. 

Her once skin is sealed shut, she is less organic and less herself than she was before. Grievous's eyes flash in her mind and she hopes they do not make her keep her own. 

With two droids at her side and no will to fight with the fire consuming her, it is easy to dislocate both her shoulders, deglove her hands, and split open her arms.

The artificial veins possessing her old ones act with more of a pinch this time. It is ice amidst the fire.

This time the pull of the bones in her arms doesn’t hurt, it is done so quickly she doesn’t even blink.

She is starting not to care as her limbs are being torn apart. The dark side hums and appreciates her sacrifice. It has been so long since she’d been appreciated, she lies still, both her choice and not.

The metal being placed into her skin was newer, certainly more advanced than what Grevious was working with. It is almost a compliment.

Needles pierce her skin once more, morphing her arms back into fine sturdy casing. Yet her new bionic hands remain exposed. The mechanical hands attached to her are white, thin but by the looks of them she knows snapping a neck would be as simple as snapping her fingers.

Luckily they aren’t clawed hands either, they are fully dexterous, nearly identical to her old ones.

Next they flip her onto her back, the smallest droid standing above her head and lifting her back lekku to allow the others to work. 

She can’t see it but a fitted artificial spine is brought in, aligned perfectly until every notch is centered before it clamps down. A dagger is within each notch, transferring into her calcium before the bones are fully replaced and no longer existent. In a matter of minutes, the artificial spine is within her body and no longer resting on the outside. Her back lekku lifts the air with it’s smacking sound as the droid lets gravity take its course yet again.

Anakin has a cybernetic advancement, maybe he won’t mind hers.

Two long twining drills sit above her collar bones and it isn’t long before a knife cuts a straight line across allowing access for those drills to dive into bone and inject the same acid that had deteriorated her spine.

Her skin slumps inward for a second before her new bar is settled, her arms snapping into the same piece. Configuring the sturdy beginnings to her torso. 

She is opened and cut in the same way one would do with a corpse when conducting an autopsy. But she is still alive even while being less than what she was before. 

With her spine already gone her ribs are loose in her chest and easily removed, she wonders how she hadn’t felt them shift and clatter when they turned her back over. It was also a blessing that she hadn’t felt them puncture anything, not that her organs would even be her own in a few more seconds.

She has less ribs than what she started with, now there are three on each side, large slabs cut diagonally so they snap into each other to make one sturdy piece. 

They crush her lungs meaning they are the next to go. The lack of oxygen pulls her under before she can figure out how they do it. And when she wakes she is dizzy, she also isn’t breathing but it doesn’t stop them from pulling out her organs with a twist and the help of a flaming blade.

The needles return and they batter the fat, they eviscerate her inner lining, and they make room for the paneling that would keep her figure and reinforce her stomach’s skin. 

Acid breaks her pelvis and deteriorates her hips until she looks like a half deflated sack with bionic legs before they approach her with the heaviest fixture.

A click, snap, and a whirr, attached her centerpiece to her spine and her legs, also allowing access to her arms.

She is in one piece but anyone who knew her before would count her as thoroughly broken. 

Her heart is still in her chest and it’s beating relentlessly, even as the valves are pushed out and replaced, the organ thumping in a cold embrace.

She is cold, and the dark side warms her in an act of comfort. Even as the red in her chest is almost entirely replaced, the red muscle breaking and shriveling. Pieces falling into her chest cavity for later cleanup as her heart is fully replaced.

She chases that warmth.

At the loss of her heart the rest goes hazy, antennae are fed through the tips of her montrals all the way down to the bottom of her lekku. 

The striped skin is repeatedly treated with injections and concoctions until they are nice and firm, able to withstand the elements. 

The Akul’s teeth that usually act as her headpiece is replaced with a band that pushes deep within her scalp, the interior dremels working to tap at her skull and replace that too.

Wires mesh and the girl can finally feel her new body, she can finally move. But the work isn’t over yet, the dark is still creeping in and implants are settling into the folds of her brain.

A muzzle with a slightly protruding soundbox blots out half of her face, traveling down her neck in a collar as it works away everything else within and toughens the skin.

“Close your eyes,” a gravelly voice croons, and she knows who it belongs to, and she is forced to obey.

When she opens them again, they are still her own, but the veins attached to them are not. There is more to her sight and more to her hearing than ever before. 

It isn’t until Grievous fully activates her that hatred turns the once sparkling blue into a luminous yellow.

Across the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker does not feel her fall to the dark side. He feels the reaping of her soul.

* * *

Droids do not not know fear yet as the war progresses and Anakin Skywalker goes to battle, raring to take off general Grievous's head for the destruction of his padawan. The droids are weary.

The chosen one is taken aback when in Grievous's place he is met with a short bionic togruta with facial markings that cut through his very soul. Wielding red sabers that do not compare to the ferocity of her once loving force-signifiture.

“Ahsoka,”


	2. Piece by Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :) y'all wanted more as did i

The droid has the advantage. It has many. There is no physical pain a blow could inflict. The bionic togruta’s casing was also reinforced so that a saber couldn’t break through without rounds and rounds of charged strikes. And with no fatigue or exhaustion in sight, charged strikes from an opponent were rare.

There is one more advantage the modified droid has in this fight. The steel shell was fighting it’s former master, and Anakin jumped to the defensive unable to swing at his little sister. The flurry of slashes it aimed at his head wasn’t it’s prior fighting style, the wires within the brain bit in anger, stimulating the emotion until all the droid had to do was act.

White hands rotate, flipping the blades into the once living padawan’s iconic grip. It brings the desired effect when the man sputters at the sight. Slipping on his feet, his saber held protectively above his head, believing Ahsoka will strike downward.

The droid does nothing of the sort, the droid picking up on a long lost hope in it’s older thoughts. The information nipping at molded synapses makes her right saber effectively slice through his mecho-arm while the left clashes at the saber that is still locked in his right hand.

It’s luck that he manages to retract his own blade before his arm comes free and his blue saber falls back onto his face. The end of his warm hilt brushes his cheek, a black first degree burn marring him with a line. One that could be treated, but he didn’t have time to think about it, because at the loss of his saber, Ahsoka’s kept with gravity.

Rolling off to the side and reaching through the force, his saber settled in his left hand. Ahsoka continued her pursuit as he managed to get to his feet, readying himself to potentially reattach his arm if it was still salvageable.

He watches as she crouches low as she runs, her trajectory familiar. He braces his saber upward as his padawan launches forward, his knee juts forward to help block, but all it manages to do is act as a purchase for her to land on.

The weight nearly topples him to the side as he clenches his teeth and holds back red. There is insight to the action, the weight on her is centered, when normally for anyone it is center mass, the torso being the focal point. They’d focused on her hips. Arguably it was smart, an intelligent decision especially for her fighting style, but it also gave him a target.

Pushing with the force he sent her flying, the clattering clang panging in his ears and making him flinch. A modulated growl escaped her, and as she was distracted he reached out for his arm, horrified to find that she’d effectively tarnished the joint.  He couldn’t fix it here, he couldn’t even attempt to fix _her_ here. Fix her. Yes, he could do that. That would be better than fighting-her weight crashed into his side, his ponderings giving her yet again an upper hand.

The droid calculates its advantages, piling more in its favor as it jut’s an armored kick up right into the man's empty arm socket sending the Jedi off the cliff face. The antena hidden within the flesh of its former montrals and lekku call it back, demanding retreat.

It’s gone seconds later while a hundred feet below, Anakin Skywalker dangles in a worsening grip. His eyes squeezing shut so as not to let his tears fall, not only in pain, but wrought with a failure the Jedi would find unbecoming. 

His comm blinks and his master’s voice seeps through somehow managing to surpass the roar of devastation in his eardrums.

“Anakin, come in. Can you hear me?”

* * *

He’s lied to the council countless times before, this time it’s easy. It is almost effortless for him to deny he’d seen what had become of his padawan. 

“It was Grievous,” it is easily believed, and Anakin is sure there is some truth to it as well. The fight sticks with him well after the healers assure his shoulder will heal well enough for him to attach a new prosthetic soon while the burn on his cheek is left untreated.

It heals on its own, leaving a faint mark that is only seen in certain light. He deserves the mark, it’s only too bad it’s not as evident as the scar marring his brow.

* * *

The droid cannot comprehend why it picked up the golden appendage as it fled. It is unable to articulate why it’d been what living beings called _hesitant_ as it handed the arm off to it’s commander.

Since creation the only emotions encrypted into their circuitry was hatred. Greed, and unlike others in the battalion, grief. All are as worn as the orange leather guarding the many cervos and circuits that keep the unit working.

It is the closest thing to wonder why that hatred and grief responded most heavily when pertaining to the Jedi with the scar breaking his face. When it run’s a diagnostic of it’s coding and drives, it is explained and not.  Made to hate with a line of words it knows individually, knows together, but there is something else, something made by the creator that doesn’t allow the droid to understand it’s meaning. The words read null.

_ “He did this to you. He failed you,” _

There is conflict that reads as a short circuit to Grievous, Dooku, and Sidious as they examine it’s coding. It is brushed off because it feeds the negative side of the force that resides within.

It is why it is the only droid with some semblance of flesh. Some semblance of identity even if it isn’t programmed to understand who, what, or why. In battle it had been calculated that Jedi Master Skywalker had an emotional disadvantage at the form it took.

With that being the case, there is the urge, in directions and in the conniving force that it’s what makes the living fury in their casing all the more powerful. It has to believe them, because it cannot feel power in any other way.

* * *

Footage comes in soon enough and Anakin cannot cover his tracks. There is reprimand for his attachment, there is sorrow and defeat in the council when they realize the true daunting implications that come with bionic force wielders. Especially ones that were once their own.

“Nothing to fix, there is,” Yoda hums sadly, leaning heavily onto his staff. Seemingly aging another hundred years in that very second. Doubt builds and anger is rising in the chosen one’s gut scorching the bottom of his lungs until he cannot breathe.

There is a point of no return, he doesn’t want to admit his padawan may have crossed it. He can’t admit he’ll never see her smiling face looking up at him, or be able to bask in her force signature because at times in the dark it blinded him.

It is too much to ask himself even if he did bring her configured form home, to disassemble and try to put her back together again. He does not want to pull the strings of her stitching free and uncover the emptiness within, the exoskeleton of pure malice taunting him.

He knows through his tears he cannot run a comforting hand over her striped lekku and montrals and know she felt the same jolt of affection he’d intended with the steel now running through it.  The touches would be empty, there would be no love, and she could never grow and become what he’d always wanted for her. His little sister was gone and she’d taken more than his arm with her.

* * *

Yellow eyes spark in their attempt to cry. Tear ducts transformed and with the lack of water, it cannot cry even though it is overrun with the need to as it cradled the golden appendage to its torso.

It's soundbox chuffs, unable to make out the noises rooted into its transformed pharynx where the air should pass. The small vent rooted there buzzes and whirrs as its sparking eyes leave scorch marks on the corner of it’s sockets.

It makes the yellow all the more ghastly, and if one were to inspect the droid. Very, very, closely, maybe they would notice there was blue just beneath the surface, and the remnants of the soul of a young girl screaming to be let out.

Weeping to apologize to her master for trying and tearing him apart. Begging he understood the hatred they were utilizing was not fully her own. That it’s direction was not led by her.  That she forgives him even if he doesn’t forgive himself.

She wants him to know what of her is in those circuits is what was made of her. And what she wishes to tell him, her master, her big brother most of all, is that who is behind this all is one he trusted. And in a last act of herself, of her soul, Ahsoka the droid channeled her once master’s frequency with a call to war and all the truths and answers that this war would need to come to an end.

Not a second later each blue string in those piercing eyes was replaced by gold and the droid was moving on to it’s next assignment, the final acts of this war.

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


End file.
